


Gravity

by softestsky



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Extended space metaphors because I’m a nerd, Juno runs into Peter while on a case, M/M, Reunion Fic, Written post monster’s reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-03 16:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15822987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestsky/pseuds/softestsky
Summary: Imagine two stars pulled inexorably together, spinning faster and faster until they fill each other’s horizons, until they have no choice but to collide.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is all going out the window the second Long Way Home comes out, but I don’t care. I had to write the way I thought a reunion would play out now that Juno’s had some Character Development™. It’ll be five or six chapters probably, and I’ll try to post them all within the next couple weeks.
> 
> Brief warning: there will be a bit of violence/death. Nothing graphic or gory, but we don’t call him knifeboi for nothing.

The job is mostly a charity case, and Juno knows it. The message he received a couple days back, attached to a set of coordinates, didn’t mince words: 

A contact of mine in Arcadia Planitia just stopped responding to me. Jasper Jackson had a case of Uranian diamonds with my name on it, and if you’re in the neighborhood with nothing else to do I’d appreciate if you’d check in with him for me. I owe you one.   
Love from your old buddy.

Buddy could easily send Jacket to intimidate her contact. She could easily intimidate him herself. But she must have known that Juno was in a cheap motel in the seedy side of Arcadia Planitia, bored out of his skull and itching to feel useful. Juno isn’t sure exactly how she figured out his location, but it probably wasn’t hard. Buddy and Vespa are master criminals with their ears to the ground, and Juno isn’t exactly unknown nowadays. Infamy is inevitable when you’re the one who shot the mayor of Hyperion City. 

 

After calling Buddy up and getting the details of the case, Juno takes the creaky sky train across town until he gets to the address: an abandoned holo-movie complex, next door to an abandoned mall and across from an abandoned pizza joint. The ticket windows out front of the movie theater are smashed, the awning is stained and peeling, and the faded facade is layered with graffiti, each tag a silent proclamation: I was here. But there’s nobody here now. Public records say this area closed down years ago, when Arcadia Planitia started losing money fast enough that anyone with the money to see holo-movies moved away, like rats leaving a doomed space hauler. Buddy says this is where Jasper Jackson, jewel smuggler, hides out when he visits Mars. 

He sends Buddy one last message: Buddy, Going in now. This place is creepy as hell. 

She replies: Good luck, Juno. Get me my jewels.

Juno rests his hand on his gun. 

He’s been practicing, shooting bottles in the alleyway out back of his motel room all day until his aim is almost as good as it used to be with the THEIA. There’s nothing better to do, besides drink himself into a stupor. The owner of the motel doesn’t mind, so long as Juno pays them an extra tip each day. They’re probably used to gunshots echoing down the streets of their neighborhood. 

They came out to stand beside Juno one afternoon as he squinted down a row of bottles set up on the dumpster. “That blaster on stun?” they asked.

“Yeah,” Juno said, and squeezed the trigger. BANG. One of the bottles fell, a tinkle then a crash as it shattered onto the cement behind the dumpster. 

“Looks like you killed it anyway,” the motel owner said, and they snickered as they walked back inside. 

Juno squeezed the trigger again. BANG. But his hand must have been too shaky; the bottles didn’t move. “Dammit,” he muttered. 

He’d needed to let Hyperion City know the truth, so with Rita’s help he’d broadcasted it to every computer in the city. Ramses found him halfway through the broadcast. Juno had only meant to stun Ramses when the new mayor rushed at him, when Juno had looked into Ramses’ eyes and seen a man still willing to do anything to keep his power. But despite all that power, in the end Ramses was an old man with a heart condition. 

The HCPD forensic officers would figure out the death was unintentional; they’d seen his broadcast, just like the rest of the city; most of them already had it out for Ramses. Still, Juno know there were enough of them left who were committed to doing their job, and he ran. 

At night, alone in his hotel room, he rarely grieves for Ramses. Mostly he grieves for Rita, Mick, Alessandra, Sasha, who he isn’t sure he’ll ever see again. For Hyperion city, and the life he’ll never get back. 

 

Imagine floating alone in space, so far out that no light reaches you. A star flung out of its orbit with nothing to anchor it, no gravity to tether it to anything else in the universe, drifting listlessly through the cosmos. 

Imagine drowning. 

Juno surveys the abandoned movie theater in front of him one last time. He breathes in deep and finds the place in his brain where it is quiet, where all that’s left is the details of the case spread out before him, laser sharp. He moves forward.


	2. Chapter 2

The inside of the theater is as derelict as the outside. The lobby is large and dim. A hole in the roof lets in a few rays of red martian sunlight, which shine down on the dusty, cracked counter of an empty snack bar. In the shadowy corners, a couple of holo-kiosks still flicker weakly, their static occasionally resolving itself into scraps of music or scenes from decades-old movie trailers.

Juno goes over Buddy’s briefing in his head. 

“Jackson arrived on Mars a week ago. He told me what he had, I told him what I wanted. We negotiated a price and started arranging a drop off, but then two days ago he went silent. No messages, nothing.”

“You think he decided not to go through with the sale?” 

“I’m not sure. He’s not the type to go back on a deal like that.”

“So you trust this guy?” 

“I wouldn’t say trust, exactly. But we have our little business arrangement, and he’s always honest. He hasn’t gone back on it before.”

“You’re concerned about him.” 

“I suppose so. He’s charming for an overdramatic smuggler, and I’d hate to see him dead in a ditch somewhere. Of course, I’d also hate to lose my shipment.”

“What is he shipping you, exactly?” 

“Uranian diamonds. The finest jewels in the galaxy. Their uses include the driving the fastest spaceship cores, focusing the most deadly lasers, building the best personal shields… and anniversary presents.”

“Things with Vespa are good, then?”

“We’re doing very well.” 

 

Juno slinks around the lobby, keeping to the shadows, scanning for signs of life. 

“Hello there.” Juno jumps. The voice comes from behind one of the holo-kiosks, where he suddenly sees the silhouette of a broad-shouldered man through the flickering lights. 

“Hi,” says Juno. “I’m a movie theater inspector. I’m here to inspect this movie theater. It seems broken.” 

The man laughs, a deep chuckle that doesn’t convey any real humor, and steps around the kiosk. “Juno Steel. Rebranding, are you?”

Juno sighs and steps forward, out of the shadows. Hand on his gun, cursing his newfound infamy. “You got me.” 

“Your Buddy sent you, I assume,” says the man. 

“She did.” 

The man smiles and extends a large hand. “Jasper Jackson, at your service. Come with me, Mr. Steel. Let’s have a talk.” 

 

Juno follows Jasper through the lobby and into theater #1. They walk across the stage where elaborate holograms were once projected to an audience, now dark, empty rows of torn, toppled seats. Lenses, cords, and wires that used to be projecting equipment are scattered about, taken apart by looters or by Jasper himself. Juno notices seams in the floor of the stage, and it sounds hollow under his feet. Juno remembers Buddy telling him, “Jackson keeps his goods in the network of maintenance tunnels under the complex.” 

There’s a door on the far side of the stage, almost hidden in the shadow of a tall, precarious looking column of lights. Jasper holds the door open and gestures Juno through. Juno goes, and finds himself in a smaller room. Maybe it used to be some sort of a control booth; there’s a panel of switches on one wall. It also contains some lamps, a folding table with two chairs, a cot, and a few crates. Juno catches a trace of a smell in the room— something sweet and out of place here, surrounded by dust and machinery— but it disappears before he can tell what it is. Jasper takes a package out of one of the crates and sits down at the table, gesturing Juno to sit down across from him. He holds out the package. “Cookie?” 

“No thanks,” says Juno, “I really don’t trust you.” 

Jasper chuckles again. “Smart move, Mr. Steel. I promise the cookies aren’t poisoned, though.” Jasper takes a cookie out of the package and crunches it between big, blunt teeth. Juno gets a better look at the man in front of him. Jasper is tall and muscular, with heavy brows and hair cropped short. His clothing is nothing fancy. His most interesting features are his arms, covered with a metallic web of tattoos, and his ears; each is encased in a nest of tubes and wires, more conspicuous than most hearing aids Juno has seen before. 

Jasper notices Juno glancing at his ears. “I went deaf about 10 years back. Factory accident. But my hearing is better than ever now, since I made these handy little things. I can hear radio waves a mile away now.” He grins at Juno’s eyepatch. “Bet I could take a look at that eye for you.” 

“No thanks,” says Juno, “I am definitely not interested.” He leans his elbows on the folding table and asks, “Why aren’t you talking to Buddy anymore?” 

“I’m not interested in a deal with your Buddy anymore,” Jasper says. “Your Buddy can get jewels somewhere else.” 

“She said you haven’t gone back on your word before. What’s changed?” 

“I came across a more lucrative opportunity,” Jasper says. He eats another cookie. Juno notices a small metal plate embedded in his right wrist. 

“So you’ll never need to contact her again, then?” Juno asks. 

“Tell her she and I are finished,” says Jasper. 

Juno asks, “How did you know my name?”

“Your face is all over the news, Mr. Steel.” 

“But you didn’t see my face,” Juno says. “You couldn’t have. I was in the dark, and you were behind that holo-kiosk, so you must have already known it was me. Your hearing aid, probably. You intercepted our messages.” 

Jasper says, “So what if I did?” 

“Why did you lie and say you saw me in the news, then?” Juno asks. 

“I’m a smuggler. Lying is part of the job,” says Jasper. “Are you done asking stupid questions now?”

“Actually, no.” Juno stands up. “Why didn’t you call Buddy ‘she’ until I used that pronoun for her? What kind of jewels are you sending her? How many? How often do you deal with her?” 

Jasper stands up now too, a good foot taller that Juno. Juno can see his muscles tense. Anticipating a fight. 

Juno pulls out his gun, aims it at the man in front of him, and asks, “What did you do to the real Jasper Jackson?” 

The man laughs his not-funny laugh again. “You’re a clever lady, Mr. Steel. It’s a shame. I was going to let you go.”

He lunges at Juno. Juno fires at him, and the laser connects with his chest, but he doesn’t go down, just staggers back a few feet. Juno sprints for the door, slams it closed behind him, and shoves the column of projection equipment over, so it falls with a heavy crash in front of the door. He runs across the stage to the door to the lobby, but it’s heavy metal and doesn’t budge; fake Jasper must have locked it from the control room. 

Juno returns to the stage and feels for the seams, half-cursing Buddy for sending him on this stupid mission and half-thanking her. He may be about to die, but at least something exciting is finally happening. He gets his fingers under the panel and heaves it open, revealing a dark passageway underneath. Juno drops down into the tunnel and lets the panel close over his head, and everything goes dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Juno fumbles for his comms and turns on the flashlight function, casting a weak sphere of light onto the tunnel around him. To his right he can hear a loud banging; fake Jasper trying to get out of the control room. And to his left… 

In between the bangs, he swears he can hear a something on his left. Something rustling, shifting, moving. 

Juno turns left and makes his way down the passage. Occasional tunnels branch off towards other theaters, but Juno follows the sound straight forward for couple hundred feet. He realizes the tunnel is getting lighter; the room at the end has a few small windows high on the walls. Below them, stacks of crates. On the floor, facing away from Juno, lies a body: tall and slender, with dark hair, a dark coat, and long legs trussed together at the ankles. The figure’s wrists are bound as well, and his long fingers are tangled in the rope, working at the knot. 

Juno moves faster. That scent washes over him as he enters the room— like something from another planet— and he’d know it anywhere, but maybe he’s just going crazy, maybe this is a figment brought to life by the memory of another set of underground tunnels— 

The figure on the floor turns to face him and Juno is staring into the dark, shocked eyes of Peter Nureyev. 

Peter’s mouth is covered with a piece of duct tape; his hair is tangled and his glasses are askew and there’s a smudge of dried blood above one of his eyes, but it’s unmistakably him. The face Juno thought he’d never see again. The best thing that ever happened to him. The worst mistake he’s ever made. 

The rule is that Juno isn’t allowed to think about Peter. He’s not very good at following it, not when the sun goes down and he’s alone in his hotel room with nothing to distract him, when he’s half-drunk or half asleep and his mind wanders out into the universe, searching for something to attach itself to. That face. Those hands. Those words. Long gone by now, of course. They once belonged to a different Juno, but he had lost them. 

For a moment they can do nothing but stare at each other. Then Juno drops to his knees in front of Peter and pulls the duct tape off his mouth and says, “Nureyev— God, Nureyev, are you okay?” 

Peter gasps a couple times when the tape is removed, then he says, “Are your comms off? The Gear can hear radio waves.” 

That voice— low and musical and familiar, even down here. Juno isn’t prepared for the shiver it sends down his spine, but he obediently switches his comms off and asks, “What’s the Gear?” 

Peter says, “The big fellow upstairs. He’s a member of the Gears. They’re a sort of technological terrorist group based on Proxima B. Trying to take over the planet with giant lasers, upgrading their bodies to become a superior species, that sort of thing.” He shifts awkwardly in his bonds. “Juno, what are you doing here?” 

Juno moves down to Peter’s feet. He’s wearing sleek designer boots with well-worn soles. “A friend of mine said her contact, Jasper Jackson, had stopped responding.” Juno takes out the plasma cutter from his pocket and starts hacking at the ropes around Peter’s ankles. He’s tied tightly; this Gear person wasn’t taking any chances on him escaping. “I guess you’re Jasper, then,” Juno says. Peter nods. “The guy up there was pretending to be you, and once I figured him out he got pretty aggressive.” As if to punctuate Juno’s point, a particularly loud bang echoes down the corridor.

“He showed up a couple days ago and caught me off guard,” says Peter. “Now he’s waiting on reinforcements, and when they show up they’ll take all the jewels for use in plenty of horrible projects, and most likely kill me when I refuse to help them.” 

The last rope breaks, and Peter sits up and stretches his legs. Juno moves on to the ties around his wrists. The knots are half undone already; Peter must have been picking at them for a long time, alone in the dim, dusty room, his hands behind his back. 

Juno would believe he could do anything. 

He shakes the thought and says, “I shut him in his room, but it’s not going to hold for much longer. Nureyev, do you know the way out of here?” 

The tie falls away, and Peter sighs in relief as he stretches his arms and shoulders. He says, “I do know how to get out. But before we leave I’m going to have to kill the Gear. It’s the only way to keep him from contacting his group and coming after me and you and Buddy.” 

Juno nods. 

Another loud crash sounds from down the hallway. Juno stands up, and Peter does too. He sways slightly on his stiff legs and reaches out to steady himself on Juno’s shoulder. Juno is suddenly aware of how close they are. Every little detail jumps out at him: Peter’s ears, glittering with tiny jewels. His collarbone, just above the buttons on his dark red shirt. His eyelashes. His smell. It’s all so real, a thousand times more vivid than Juno’s memories. Juno’s nerves are already tingling with adrenaline. He wants to throw his arms around Peter and kiss him hard. 

Imagine gravity, one body pulled towards another, an attraction inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them: the closer you get, the harder it is to resist. 

Juno looks away. Peter looks away too, and he moves his hand, and when he looks back at Juno his expression is steely and his voice businesslike. “He’ll come for this room. It’s the last place he heard your comms. We need to draw him into one of the side tunnels, then I’ll ambush him as he goes past, before he knows you let me go.” 

Juno says, “I shot him earlier, but it just sort of bounced off.”

Peter nods. “Uranian diamond personal shield, embedded in the panel in his wrist. It blocks lasers, but not metal. Give me your knife, Juno.” 

Juno hands the knife over. He says, “You’ll have better luck sneaking up on him from behind if he’s distracted. How about I give him something to think about?” 

“Alright,” Peter says. “But this man is dangerous.”

Juno says, “I know.” 

A final, splintering crash. The two of them dart out into the hallway and duck into the first offshoot tunnel they come across. Peter sets off down the tunnel, whispering, “I’ll show you where to wait.” Juno follows him. It gets darker and darker as they run. Eventually Juno can’t see more than a foot ahead of him, but Peter must know this place. He takes Juno’s arm and guides him around a corner, then another. Juno hears the stage panel creak open, and the heavy thud of the Gear landing in the main tunnel. They keep running. Peter pulls Juno down another corridor and stops a few feet from a junction, and gives Juno a look: this is where he’ll wait. He pulls out Juno’s comms and flashes it on, once. Then he turns away and vanishes into the dark. 

Juno waits. He can hear the Gear’s hurried footsteps, getting closer and closer as he makes his way towards the last place he heard the comms. He’s got some sort of light with him, casting long shadows around the corners of the doorways. Juno takes out his blaster, finger on the trigger. Closer… closer… 

Now. 

Juno steps out and fires several shots into the Gear’s chest. “Take that, you dumb asshole!” he yells. 

The Gear is knocked backwards, but he regains his footing and steps towards Juno. “You should have taken the cookies and left when you had a chance,” he growls. 

Perfect, Juno thinks. “Hey, did anyone ever tell you how ugly you are?” he taunts. “You look like a toaster oven a rabbit ate then vomited up. You look like the egg salad my secretary left at the back of my fridge six months ago. You look like—”

Juno is cut off when the Gear lunges forward and his hands close around Juno’s throat. Juno gasps for air and drops his gun, trying to get his arms up between them, to land a punch, but the man seems inhumanly strong, and Juno’s vision is going dark around the edges, his lungs are like knives inside his chest and his blows are growing weaker and he can’t breathe, everything is dark, he can’t breathe, Nureyev, Peter, please—

The hands release from around Juno’s neck, and he crumples to the ground in glorious relief. He’s vaguely aware of a grunt and a gasp and a sputter, and then a heavy thud. Moments later, another set of hands is on him, one cupping his face and the other at his neck. But these hands are gentle. Juno knows he doesn’t have to fight. 

“Juno.” 

It’s Peter. 

“Juno, answer me.”

He sounds concerned. That’s nice of him, Juno thinks. 

“Juno, please, open your eyes,” Peter says, and Juno is tired but he figures he probably owes it to Peter to do as he says. 

He cracks his eyes open. “Hey, Nureyev,” he mumbles.

Peter is leaning over him. “You’re alright,” he says. He takes a deep breath and leans back slightly. “You passed out for a moment there when the Gear strangled you, but you’re not injured, and I killed him.” His voice is perfectly even now, like he’s ordering a coffee, not relating a near-death experience. Moments ago, his voice wasn’t even, was it? Juno thinks back through the blur of pain and oxygen deprivation. Peter said Juno’s name like a prayer, like a plea. Juno’s almost sure of it.

Peter stands up and brushes himself off. Businesslike. There’s blood on his hands. The Gear lies in a heap a few feet down the hallway.

Living people breathe and blink and twitch. They’re always in motion somehow. Dead people don’t move, and that’s the most horrible part about them. The Gear is still, in a way no human body ever should be, and he’s another reminder. You move until you stop. One moment you’re a living, breathing, human, and the next moment you’re gone. 

“I’m going to start loading the cases of jewels into my car outside,” Peter says. “The Gears will come looking for their friend soon enough, and we both need to be out of here when they do.” He pauses a moment, expressionless. His mouth is slack, neither a smile nor a frown, and his two bright eyes are distant stars, signifying nothing. He’s breathing, sure. But as he looks down at Juno, Peter might as well be dead. 

Peter Nureyev turns down the tunnel towards the storeroom and disappears into the dark.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s midnight and this chapter is done so it’s going up. posting schedule? I don’t know her.

Juno sits in the corridor, getting his breath back. Peter passes him, carrying a stack of crates. A few minutes later he returns empty-handed, heading back to the storeroom. Juno gets up and follows him. They pick up crates in silence and take them down the corridor, up onto the stage, and out to the back of the theater, where they pack them into the back of Nureyev’s car: a stylish but nondescript model. It’s no Ruby 7. Then they go back for another load. 

Juno walks a few steps behind Peter, watching him. The master thief is remarkably poised for someone who has just been held captive in an underground storeroom for two days. He steps confidently through the darkened corridors. He’s wiped the Gear’s blood off of his hands; he holds the crates with steady fingers, slender and adorned with a few rings. His face is still and calm. The scrape over his eye is the only sign that anything could be wrong, and even that looks almost like part of his costume: the perfect accessory to a life of thrill and danger, a rough patch elegantly juxtaposed against the soft angles of Peter’s face. 

Or maybe Juno’s reading too much into it. 

He doesn’t know what to feel. The man who just tried to kill him is lying dead, but Juno’s heart hasn’t stopped pounding since, out of fear or hope or something in between. He thinks of the moment after he fell to the ground, of Peter lunging after him and calling out Juno’s name. Does that matter, when Peter is so stony and silent now? Does he regret letting his compassion get the better of him and giving his pathetic one-eyed ex-something a false bit of hope? 

Juno follows Peter mechanically, picks up crates, and loads them into the car. He owes Peter an apology. He’s pretty sure of that. But maybe Peter doesn’t want to hear it. 

Soon enough the crates are all stacked in Peter’s car. Juno waits on the stage as Peter investigates the control room, picking over the supplies inside and tucking a few trinkets into his pockets. Time’s up, Steel. Juno clenches his fists, looking out over the ruined rows of seats where the middle class of Arcadia Planitia used to spend their Saturdays, sitting with cartons of popcorn and boxes of curry mints, shushing any neighbor whose comms’ ping dared interrupt their viewing of the latest rom-com or action holo. It’s been decades. Those moviegoers must be mostly dead now, burned or buried or jettisoned into space, and if their ghosts have returned to their old seats they aren’t getting anything more uplifting than the Juno Steel show. Watch this poor lady try to put together the words to apologize to the love of his life. Watch him try to keep himself from falling apart in the process. 

Juno breathes in. “Deep breaths,” he used to tell Rita when she came to him in a panic about losing her comms or forgetting to do her paperwork or accidentally staying up all night hacking into the military defense network. “You’re going to figure this out,” he would tell her, and she would breathe in deep and nod through her tears. The image calms him a bit, and he breathes out and turns to the door as Peter emerges. 

“I have everything I need from here,” Peter says. “Let Buddy know I’ll contact her to arrange the drop off.” 

“Okay,” says Juno. “Okay, that’s fine.”

“I’ll be going now, then. Goodbye, Detective Steel. Thank you for your help.” Peter’s shoulders are stiff and his face is unmoving. Just like that, there he goes, walking past Juno across the stage, his boots clicking on the floorboards. Composed, perfect, leaving. Each step feels like a blow. 

Juno’s mouth feels heavy, clumsy, but he needs to say something, and now. He calls out, “Nureyev, wait.” 

Peter stops and turns around, his face inscrutable. “What,” he says flatly. 

Juno’s a mess inside. His palms are hot, like they’re itching to punch someone, or to grab Nureyev by the collar and shake the horrible calm of off his face. His heart is out of control, pull it together, as if he could ever be unshaken with this man in front of him. “Can we talk?” he manages. 

“I don’t see what we have to talk about,” Peter says. Cold. Juno’s running hot, but Peter is cold as the vacuum. 

“Last time,” Juno says, “when I left,” and he can see Peter tense. Brittle, Juno thinks, like ice full of cracks, although he’s not sure why. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter says. Juno opens his mouth to respond, because this isn’t what he was expecting at all, but Peter keeps going. His tone is stiff and restrained. “I shouldn’t have given you an ultimatum you couldn’t fulfill. I shouldn’t have expected you to give up your life for someone so closely tied to bad memories. I shouldn’t have involved you in any of this in the first place, Juno. I put you in danger. My affections cost you your eye, your very livelihood; I don’t blame you for wanting to be through with me. But I’ve tried my best to keep my promise. I’m sorry you had to see me again, but I’m leaving now, and I’ll be out of your life for good this time.” And again he turns away. 

“Nureyev,” Juno says. He’s going to collapse in on himself. He’s going to explode. He calls out again, “Goddammit, Peter, wait,” and that must mean something because the master thief turns to face him, and suddenly all the intensity of his dark eyes is focused on Juno. Juno’s breath catches; he doesn’t know what to say under the onslaught. 

“Why did you call me that?” Peter asks. 

“I won’t say it again if you don’t want me too,” Juno says. 

Peter says, “You never called me by my first name before. Why now?” 

Juno takes a deep breath. Here goes. Don’t fuck this up, Steel. “Because it felt too close. Too intimate. By not using your name I thought I was keeping that last little bit of distance between me and you. You were good, and I was bad. You were clean, but I was a mess, and I couldn’t let myself contaminate you.”

Peter frowns. “Juno, you certainly aren’t a bad person. You would have sacrificed yourself for the entire population of Mars.” He sounds irritated, like he’s correcting someone who should know better. 

“I know,” Juno says. 

“Not to mention all the lives you saved as a detective, and your recent bout of heroism with O’Flaherty. You—”

Juno interrupts him. “I’m trying to be vulnerable here. Would you shut up and let me talk?” 

“Of course,” Nureyev says. Is that amusement glinting in his eyes? Juno tries not to think about it. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said the first time we met. About people being like houses, or maybe like cities. Something that’s pretty on a postcard might turn out to be real ugly up close. The darkest, dirtiest parts might be where you find hope, or happiness. I don’t know, but I figure we’re all good bits and bad bits and tangled alleyways. Monsters. You asked me what my monsters were, and I didn’t answer. So here goes: I’m depressed. I have a martyr complex. I have memories that hurt to think about. I’ve got shitty self-esteem and a bit of a drinking problem and I don’t know when to shut my mouth. And that’s not all of me, but it sure can feel like it is sometimes.”

Peter is still watching him intently, and he doesn’t say anything. Juno keeps going.

“I didn’t want you to have to deal with my monsters. I didn’t want you to figure out somewhere down the line how much of a mess I was and have to get rid of me, so I did it for you. That was selfish of me. I should have let you make your own choice. But I was scared, and it didn’t seem like a choice at all to me, just an inevitability. Hell, I couldn’t even think of a single good quality of mine that might balance out the bad ones.” 

Peter takes a step forward and says, “Oh, Juno,” and the tenderness in his voice sends a shiver down Juno’s spine, and call Juno an idiot but he can’t help but hope. 

Juno says, “I didn’t think you were gonna apologize to me. I guess you’re right about endangering me, though. If I’m not all bad, you’re not all good, and you did make some bad decisions. But I would have gotten involved with Miasma and the Martian crap even if you hadn’t been with me. So I accept your apology, and I just… I’m sorry for not trusting you.” 

“Of course I forgive you,” says Peter, and he takes another step closer. “And for the record, Juno, I would have chosen you. Monsters and all.” 

“Oh,” says Juno. Peter just keeps looking him at him, and Juno doesn’t know what to say now. “Look,” he says, “Look, I don’t want you to think— Well, I’m not expecting anything from you. I understand if you’ve moved on.” 

“But you haven’t moved on, have you?” Dark eyes, warm and electric. Sharp teeth visible between barely parted lips. Peter Nureyev’s face is gloriously, exhilaratingly alive.

Juno’s voice shakes slightly. “Never.” 

 

Imagine watching the sunrise break over a sprawling, chaotic, messy, beautiful city and thinking, home. 

Imagine coming up for air, your lungs struggling to keep up with your heaving, glorious breaths. 

Imagine two stars, pulled inexorably together, spinning faster and faster until they fill each other’s horizons, until they have no choice but to collide. 

Peter crosses the few feet of space remaining between them in two sharp strides and takes Juno by the collar, and Juno’s gasp is lost in a desperate, hungry kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: for some reason, this image of a kiss on a stage in an empty theater has existed in my brain for several months, but I could never figure out a way to incorporate it into any piece of writing until now. but I had the idea for this exchange between Juno and Peter and then I decided to just make it take place on a stage in an abandoned theater and finally use this random scenario my brain had come up with. so I had to figure out some convoluted way to get it to happen. anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter + the unasked for explanation of my writing process.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s back! At this point I have accepted that I will never have a consistent posting schedule and I’m okay with that. Here’s a short and sappy bit. I hope you enjoy it.

At some point Juno and Peter come apart. They stand, facing each other, on the stage. Juno takes Peter in. Peter’s breath comes fast past those full, soft lips; his hands rest on Juno’s waist and his eyes are wide and he smells like cologne and blood and dust and Peter, and Juno is struck again by how warm and solid and real he is. He reaches out and touches Peter’s face, traces his fingers along his cheek, his jaw, his mouth, and Peter smiles and his eyes flutter closed as he leans into Juno’s touch. 

“I guess you haven’t moved on then,” Juno says.

Peter lets out a little laugh and says, “Moved on.” His hands tighten on Juno’s waist. (Juno remembers the duality of those hands. Strong enough to drive a knife across a neck, gentle enough to imperceptibly pick a pocket, clever enough to take Juno apart with just a few touches.) Peter says, “As if I haven’t spent the last hour carefully configuring my face, my words, and my motions so you didn’t realize how much I still wanted you. As if I don’t still wake up at night thinking about that last day I had with you and wishing I’d done something different, or that I could change the last words I said to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Juno says, but Peter shakes his head. 

“I don’t need you to be sorry,” he says. “I already forgave you.” He moves his hand up to the back of Juno’s head, burying his fingers in Juno’s messy curls. “I just need you to understand,” he says, and pulls Juno forward so that their foreheads are touching, so that Juno can almost feel Peter’s breath as he murmurs, “I never was a fool to love you, Juno.” 

“Me neither,” Juno mumbles, and then before Peter can respond he tilts his chin up and closes the distance between them. Peter’s mouth is soft, and Juno takes the time to really kiss him, refamiliarizing himself with the feel of Peter’s lips, his hands, the soft hum in his throat when Juno tangles a hand in his hair and deepens the kiss. Peter’s hands go to Juno’s hips and he pulls Juno even closer to him, and Juno shivers as he relearns the feeling of Peter’s tongue, of their bodies pressed tightly against each other, aligning perfectly. When Peter pulls away his smile is all teeth, and it makes Juno’s stomach flip. 

“We really should get out of here,” Peter says. “It’s dangerous. Do you happen to have a place around here?” 

“All I have is a shitty motel room.” Juno is still a little breathless. 

“Ah,” says Peter. “In that case, would you like to come with me to somewhere a little more comfortable?” Juno is about to say that sounds very nice to him, but Peter’s expression changes to one of worry. “I’ll be on Mars for the next couple weeks distributing these jewels,” he says, “and then I have an appointment in New Siberia that I really can’t miss, they would quite literally have my head, but I can be back within a month and I can stay here with you for a while—”

Juno interrupts him. “Could I come with you?” 

Peter gives Juno an inquisitive smile. “Why, I would love to have you. New Siberia is a beautiful planet, and I could use some backup if I run into the New Siberian neo-mafia and their genetically modified mammoths— but Juno, you don’t have to leave Mars if you don’t want to. I am perfectly content to come back for as long as you’ll have me.” 

“Thanks, Nureyev… um, thanks, Peter,” Juno says. “Sorry, I’m still getting used to that.” 

“Don’t worry about it, love,” says Peter, and he presses a quick kiss to Juno’s forehead, which is very much not fair, but Juno gathers his thoughts and continues. 

“Mars is my home,” he says. “I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave for good. But right now… well, I could use a vacation.” 

“I can certainly arrange that,” says Peter. “As long as you tell me if you’re having any doubts about it. We can always reschedule.” 

“I’ll keep you updated,” Juno says. 

“Good,” says Peter. That smile again. When Peter leans in and kisses him, Juno can still feel it against his lips. 

 

They take Peter’s car, with the top down and the air rushing past them as the rise up over the city, out of the dilapidated streets and towards the hazy red horizon. Peter drives fast enough to make Juno’s stomach swoop— or maybe it’s the way Peter’s hair is blown back from the sharp angles of his face, the way he leans forward and laughs into the wind for what seems like no reason at all. One of his long-fingered hands is draped over the steering wheel and the other one rests firmly on Juno’s knee. Juno brings his hand down to grip Peter’s, watches the city shrink below him, and doesn’t ask Peter to slow down.


End file.
